Still On
by XxBloodFromOutMyVeinsXx
Summary: A 'Hunger Games' the first book, yes alternate ending. May be more chapters, cause otherwise it might not make sense…. :P R & R, please! ; the genre is more whatever you'd label 'The Hunger Games' genre as.


_Still On_

by VAC

I know I shouldn't be so surprised.

Because, of course they never intended to let us both live; of course they can only _have_ one victor; of course they tricked us.

Finally, my eyes shift from the sky to stare at Peeta. Are the people in the Capitol thinking of us as star-crossed lovers once again? It's obvious we can't be together anymore.

Peeta is looking at me sadly. I know he won't kill me. He will sacrifice himself. Should I let him? He loves me, whereas I . . . just don't return that love. Peeta is my ally; I don't want to—I can't—kill him. But, I'm so afraid of death right now. And since I can't make myself kill him, it would be so much easier to have him kill himself.

But now I feel guilty. Here he is, ready to die for me, and I'm worrying about myself.

I always thought that love was selfish, a greedy pleasure—but is it, really? How can it be, when it means you would give your life for that one person? Or maybe it's just the boy with the bread; maybe he, himself, is naturally selfless.

Regardless, I can't let Peeta die. I know _I'm_ not being selfless—this is selfishness. It's for me. Because, I know that if I let him die, to spare _my_ life, I will never forgive myself. And, maybe, deep down, I do love him. Not as much as he loves me, but enough. Like a best friend. Family. Almost like Gale.

I take his hands in mine, so that he won't reach for the knife yet, but what can I do? Give _my_ life? My survival instinct is too strong. And I promised Prim, and Rue.

He's going to die anyway if I don't act fast. And it's my fault he's hurt.

He still looks at me with those agonized blue eyes. Peeta should live. He deserves to. I have never met anyone kinder, more self-sacrificing, than him. Is this how I can repay him for the bread, and every time he's saved me?

Suddenly, I am filled with anger and loathing for the people who did this to us. The Capitol, President Snow, the Gamemakers. But not just them: the other dead tributes, the other districts, _my_ district, the Peacekeepers, Cinna, Portia, Greasy Sae, the Hob, Effie, Haymitch, my mother, Gale, _Prim_ even! They all find their way into my circle of hate. Myself too, of course. The red-headed Avox girl. The 73 other victors over the years. Panem. _Everyone_, except for the boy with the bread. And it doesn't even make sense.

Then a repulsive thought hits me. _Can the Gamemakers play with our emotions? Toy with our minds? But how…?_

I can feel a scowl on my face now, and Peeta closes his eyes. I have a feeling that if I let go, he might drop to the ground, dead.

_If only the hovercraft would come. If only they could let us both win. If only they would save Peeta!_

I think of the hovercraft before the Games, that brought me to the arena. I remember the electric current that held me in place as they inserted the tracker….

_The tracker._

Without thinking, I grab Peeta's knife, and dig it into my arm where the little bump and bruise indicate that the tracker is under my skin. It hurts, but I manage to get the blade under the small device, and flick it out, into the lake.

I look back at Peeta, and his eyebrows are raised, curiously. For some unfathomable reason, I lean up and kiss him lightly, before placing the tip of the blade on his arm. I check his expression to see if he's okay with it. He nods. Since I'm not doing it on myself, it's easier, and I get it out in one quick slash.

I panic, because Peeta is loosing so much blood, but suddenly, I know what to do.

My scowl is gone, replaced with fierce determination, knowing that what I am about to do will go down in history, and that, hopefully, this will be the last Hunger Games. They need a victor.

"Both of us, or none of us," I whisper in Peeta's ear. "Pretend we'll fight. The berries." As I pull away, I see that he understands. Well, he knows that Panem won't have _one_ victor this year, anyway. He can't know what I'm planning to say, though.

I give him his knife back, and pick up an arrow. I discard my bow, so it'll seem like a fairer fight. But, then I hold up my hand to him, gesturing for him to wait, and address the sky, where I know the cameras will do a close-up.

"To the people of Panem—the districts 1 through 12, to be exact—I am sorry for your losses." I know the Capitol won't want people to hear that, so I'm sure they have cut the cameras.

I turn back to Peeta, because continuing would be useless, and crouch in anticipation for a fight. They have to be filming again, thinking my speech is over. I keep my eyes locked on Peeta as I yell.

"Long live district 13!" I say it clearly, loudly, and quickly. Of course, there is no district 13 anymore, but I know that this will infuriate the Capitol, and all I can think is I want revenge, and maybe my words will start uprisings in the districts, and maybe people will remember me, and be proud….

The cameras are off again, I know, but they couldn't have shut them down before that got out. Recording the Games live is supposed to add to the excitement, but they never thought anyone would dare challenge the Capitol like this. Maybe districts are already rebelling.

"Goodbye," I pretend to finish.

Peeta stares at me with wide eyes. I lunge at him and purposefully miss, keeping our eyes locked. He knows what I'm trying to do, and slashes the air in front of me. I need the cameras to come back on, so that I can speak again, and I can tell that Peeta has something to say as well. After a few more attacks, about a minute, I'm certain the cameras must be coming on. To be sure, we pretend-fight some more, and I notice something.

Peeta's tracking device on the edge of the water starts flashing a dull red. What does that mean? Does it mean the cameras are back on and searching for the trackers? Or that people are coming—that we should run? Where could we run? Either way, it's now or never. I let Peeta go first. His words shock me.

"May the Capitol rest in peace."

The tracker light goes off, and I think it _must_ have to do with the cameras, a signal.

I want everyone to hear me, but it will take too long to wait for the cameras, and the Gamemakers can't let us do this for long. I pick up the little device, wondering if I can find a way to turn on the cameras from it.

"It automatically turns on the cameras when your pulse speeds up." Peeta is right behind me. "At least, that's my theory. So they don't miss any action."

"Can't they control the cameras manually?" I ask.

"Of course, but at this stage in the Games, every camera's on us. It should give us some time." We don't bother to whisper.

"How long, do you think?" I wonder, hopeful.

"Around five seconds, maybe?" he says, unsure.

"Perfect." I smile mischievously, and painfully re-insert the tracker into my arm. _Why did I take them out to begin with? Because I thought it was controlling my emotions? Pathetic._

But Peeta must be right—it pulses again.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" I scream without hesitation. "The seventy-fourth Hunger Games will have no one victor!" I take a handful of berries out of the pouch, and split them with Peeta. We do this fast, then hold them out so that everyone can see.

I start the countdown—counting off the districts—not even caring if the cameras are off yet, because I know the Gamemakers and President Snow can still see us. "13, 12, 11, 10, 9, 8, 7…" Peeta joins in. We are holding hands.

I think Gale would be proud of me, most of all. He always ranted about the Capitol, and I silently agreed. But we never _did_ anything about it. But, now I'm here, and everybody is—or was—watching me. I'm defying the Capitol. And I know Gale will fight for me in district 12.

"…1." I squeeze Peeta's hand. Start to bring the berries to my mouth.

Spasm blindly.

I don't understand, since the berries, uneaten, are uncontrollably flung from my hand. Then I get it. The tracker is electrocuting me.

Peeta realizes something's wrong, and immediately figuring it out, starts pulling the tracker off again. We are both going to die anyway, but I guess he can't stand to watch me spasm, and I really can't eat berries like this.

This is what they want, so that it will shut down, so that we won't be seen, or heard. So I yell one last thing.

"Fight back!"

The light dies in Peeta's blood-stained hand, and I grab half of his berries. We finally manage to shove them into our mouths.

Had I been paying attention to our surroundings, I might have heard the mockingjays' warning. But it's too late, and the hovercraft appears above us. The cameras are definitely off. We don't have time to run, even swallow the berries, before two Capitol Games personnel have descended, and are beating us, and rinsing out our mouths. They make us spit the berries out by punching our stomachs, and slapping our backs harshly.

Then they start to drag us to the ladder with the electric current.

"No!" I scream, but it's too late, and I'm frozen. With my eyes plastered open, I see that our attackers have some sort of special suit on, which allows them to move free from the current. They use this time, as the ladder pulls us up, to handcuff us, and disarm us. They seem to relax and wait when they finish, but I think they are being instructed by a Gamemaker, because my person looks as if he or she has been reminded to do one last thing. Unfastening my mockingjay pin, he or she—I really can't tell—lets it drop into the lake, free—and lost forever—just as the door closes beneath our feet.

I try to struggle, but I can't even blink. It all happened so quickly—half a minute, tops—and one of the blows to my head has made my thoughts fuzzy.

But there is something nagging at my memory, something that tugs on my mind, as I am unfrozen and plugged into some sort of medical machine. A thousand hands hold me down. I don't bother to resist—what good can it do me now? A needle stabs my arm, making me dizzy and drowsy. But it's a little red light on the machine that jolts my memory.

A small red, pulsing light where Peeta drops it….

A signal to the cameras….

Which means, despite the Capitol's efforts, the cameras where _still on_.

_So_, I think, _will they have to kill everyone?_

My vision blurs. Fades.

And everything is gone.


End file.
